Rapscallion

Sol? They found themselves a light. Afraid of the dark, were we? How sweet. Keep your eye on the Frog while I deal with his nibs.'

Croker stepped further into the cellar, Sol close behind him, holding the lantern high and looking wary.

The cellar had always carried the smell from the kegs. It was nothing new, but it wasn't until Croker looked down and noticed the lantern reflecting off the wetness on the floor and the dampness on his boots that it occurred to him the smell might be stronger than usual.

Which was when Lasseur kicked over the opened brandy keg and Hawkwood touched the candle to the edge of the puddle.

Croker let out a yell as the floor and his boots and breeches erupted in blue tongues of fire.

Hawkwood knew the flames might not last long, depending on the strength of the liquor, but he was counting on Croker's initial panic to give them the edge. Pushing himself off the wall, Hawkwood slammed the knife towards Croker's throat. The blade entered Croker's neck with devastating force. Croker's eyes widened with astonishment. As he toppled backwards, the pistol still held fast in his hand, Hawkwood swept the knife sideways before tugging it free. Gravity did the rest.

Sol turned too late and screamed as Lasseur rose and smashed the empty bottle on to the bridge of his nose. The lantern fell from his hand. As Sol went down, Lasseur levered the pistol from his grip and swung his boot into Sol's crotch. Sol joined Croker on the floor. Lasseur tossed the bottle aside, ignoring the sound of breaking glass. Croker, prostrate, brandy-soaked and burning, tried to bring his pistol to bear and died, choking on his own blood.

Placing the knife inside his boot, Hawkwood prised the pistol from Croker's hand. Already, the flames were dying.

Lasseur was in the passageway. Hawkwood slammed the door shut and rammed the bolt home. He caught up with Lasseur at the bottom of the stairs.

'If we can get to the stables,' Lasseur urged, 'we can steal a couple of horses.'

But Hawkwood shook his head. 'No time. If any of Morgan's crew are in the stables we'd have to deal with them and saddle up. Even if we managed to get clear, we'd still have to get past the pickets at the gatehouse. We can assume Morgan's briefed his men. They'll hear us coming and seal us in. So far, no one knows we've broken out. The longer we can keep it that way, the better. We're better off going over the back wall and heading for the woods.'

'Morgan has men on the perimeter.'

'They'll be spread out. We can deal with them.'

Hawkwood thought about the palisades. They were the only weak spots he'd seen. They would have to cross open ground but when weighed against being on horseback in full view and making noise, to Hawkwood's mind, the option still made more sense. It wasn't much of a choice, either way.

Lasseur contemplated Sol's pistol. 'Then, let's hope this one's loaded.'

They halted at the top of the steps. The yard was empty. The stable doors stood enticingly ajar. Hawkwood felt a twinge of doubt.

'Ready?' Lasseur murmured.

He found he was talking to himself. Hawkwood was already on the move.

'What are Croker and Sol playing at, for Christ's sake?' Morgan shook his head, half in anger, half in bafflement. 'It would have been quicker sending Del.'

'We should have gone ourselves,' Pepper said. 'At least, if there's a mess, it'll be easier to clean the cellar than the carpet.'

They were in the main house. Morgan was at his desk. Pepper was leaning against the hearth.

Morgan thought about that. He stared at the carpet. What Pepper said made sense. He nodded. 'You're right.' He picked up the blackthorn walking stick. 'Come on.'

Pepper retrieved a pistol from the table and followed Morgan out of the room.

They headed for the stable yard.

There was still no sign of either Croker or Sol en route. Morgan tried to ignore the seeds of doubt germinating deep in his gut. He wondered whether Pepper was experiencing concern, too. If he was, there was no sign. But that was the thing with Pepper: he rarely showed any outward emotion. It didn't matter if the news was good or bad, Pepper's expression hardly ever seemed to change.

The two men crossed the yard and descended the cellar stairs.

It was Pepper who sensed it first.

'What?' Morgan said.

Pepper raised the pistol and approached the cellar door. Cautiously, Morgan tugged back the bolt and pulled the door open.

'God damn it to hell!' Morgan's features distorted with rage as he stared down at the carnage. His knuckles whitened around the blackthorn. 'Useless bloody sods!'

Croker lay on his back. His clothes were singed; his eyes were open and sightless. There looked to be a lot of blood. Sol was on his side with his knees drawn up, clutching his balls with blistered hands and whimpering. One eye was closed. Blood and snot from his broken nose was dripping on to the floor. The cellar reeked. Pepper took in the opened brandy keg, the shards of broken bottle, the discarded lantern and the extinguished candle stub.

Clever, he thought. He glanced towards the other tubs at the back of the cellar. It was a good job Hawkwood and Lasseur had concentrated their escape strategy on this immediate area and that the flames had extinguished themselves before they'd had a chance to spread to the rest of the kegs.

'Sound the bell,' Morgan said. 'They can't have got far.'

Pepper was already running for the stairs.

Hawkwood and Lasseur had the perimeter wall in their sights when they heard the clamour. Fortune had been on their side. Using the ruins as cover, they had made it as far as the windowless shell where Hawkwood had encountered Morgan's dogs.

Cautiously, Hawkwood raised his head and looked through one of the empty window frames towards the main house, where several men were hurrying towards the sound of the bell, which was becoming more insistent with each successive clang.

'I think we can assume they've found Croker and Sol,' Lasseur said drily.

'And they'll be looking for us as soon as that bloody bell stops,' Hawkwood said. He turned, eyes probing the line of the wall, trying to recall where he'd seen the nearest breach.

He saw it and pointed. 'There, close to the trees. There's a break in the stonework. Morgan's plugged the gap, but we can use the tools to break through.'

They ducked out from the ruin, using it as a shield, keeping low. The bell stopped ringing when they were twenty paces out from the ruin. The first pistol shot rang out ten paces further on. It did not come from behind them but from one of two men who appeared out of the trees one hundred paces to Hawkwood's right.

When he saw the men break cover and heard the cry, it dawned on Hawkwood that both he and Lasseur had underestimated the discipline of Morgan's perimeter guards. At some point, Morgan must have issued a directive telling his pickets to remain at their stations in the event of an alarm, in case it signalled a breach of the defences. While the rest of Morgan's crew had been answering the summons behind them, the pickets had been moving into position. Their readiness to engage and use weapons against them was proof that Morgan had alerted his men to Hawkwood and Lasseur's indiscretions.

Hawkwood swerved to one side, though he knew eagerness had forced the picket to fire too soon and from too great a range. There had been no risk of the ball finding its target.

He kept going.

There was another cry, this time from the direction of the main buildings. The sound of the pistol shot had travelled, alerting the rest of Morgan's crew that their quarry had been sighted. There was no need for caution now. Hawkwood risked a look over his shoulder. Beyond the ruin, he could see a dozen men were racing towards them. Some with cudgels, others armed with pistols. Two looked as if they were carrying muskets. Reassuringly, they were still some distance away.

He turned back to see Lasseur steady himself, take aim with Sol's pistol and fire. There was a sharp cry fifty